


No Hands

by gondalsqueen



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: F/M, Injury, PWP, seriously nothing but sex here, toe sucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 11:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6003352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gondalsqueen/pseuds/gondalsqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written to fulfill this prompt on the <a href="http://swr-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/540.html"> Star Wars: Rebels kinkmeme </a>: "Kanan/Hera, Toe Sucking: Hera's lekku get a lot of love in fic. But don't you think she'd be sensitive *other* places, too? Or maybe it's Kanan whose toes are an unexpected erogenous zone?"</p><p>Sex, guys. It's just very explicit sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Hands

It started because Hera had trussed Kanan up like a Harvest Day turkey waiting to be cooked. Kolto wraps around each arm, arms positioned carefully out from either side, flat on his back in his own bunk, he was more or less immobile. She took off a boot, then stripped his sock away.

“You should’ve let me get that before you wrapped me up.”

“Kanan, you have two broken arms!”

“And you are an excellent medic. Kolto packs, healing trance, I’ll be better by morning.”

“I know, I know. Just—don’t catch yourself with your arms anymore, okay? Next time let the package fall.”

“Drop the loot? Are you feeling well, Captain Syndulla?”

He’d expected a smile, gotten a small, guilty frown, instead. She worked at the other boot, and here he was stuck, and he couldn’t take her hands in his own, couldn’t stop her work and then stop her worrying.

But then she started on the clasp of his pants. Kanan tried to hold still, to be pliable and well-behaved and maybe make up for getting hurt. Her fingers moved efficiently—no ulterior motives here. Still, her fingers… He tried to remember that he was injured, but he didn’t try very hard. One distinct pulse of blood away from his bandaged arms, and he was feeling much better.

This time, Hera’s lips twitched in response. Oh, she’d seen. “Aren’t you a little injured for that?”

“Hera, the day I’m too injured for that, you can conduct my funeral.”

Still all business, she stripped his pants away, then that little smirk faded. What? Another injury? He felt fine.

“Kanan, you’re filthy!”

Well, nothing he could do about it now. “It’s not hurting anything. Come up here by me.”

“No, wait.” Instead Hera got off the bed. “I’ll be right back.” Then she left the room. Oh, this was getting worse and worse. Kanan blew out a breath—just a little frustration, he told himself—and tried to scratch that place on the inside of his leg with the toe of the other foot.

She came back two minutes later with a pot and a towel, and he perked up again—mostly metaphorically. “Hold still.” She sat the pot on the bed, then sat next to it. “Don’t kick that—it’s full of soapy water.”

“You know, I’m dirty all the way up,” he said hopefully.

“I know you are, love, but I can’t fix your mind with this.”

But oh, she could fix everything else. She started with his stomach, the cloth making small circles and stripping the dust away, his blood singing under her touch. He tightened the muscles in his abdomen—that usually got a good response—but she only laughed and patted him dry with the towel. By the time she moved on to his hips, he had decided against any efforts at false modesty. She grazed the rag down the psoas on one side, and his cock jumped shamelessly. Then she dipped the cloth in warm water again and drew it right down his shaft, tip to base, and he couldn’t have kept himself from responding for all the galaxy. “Hera—ah—I think that’s… still dirty.” She swirled warm water around the base and blotted the cloth carefully around his testicles, and if he was frustrated in the now cool air, at least he began to hope that she wanted him clean for other activities. But her mouth didn’t even smile in the lamplight, and she patted him dry and moved on to his legs, leaving certain operative parts straight and lonely in her wake.

And he couldn’t tell—blast it—she was looking down and all he could see now was her forehead. He couldn’t tell whether she was teasing him or seriously just intending to bathe him and insist on the healing trance—which he didn’t care two jogans about, at this point.

After interminable centuries—he’d never cursed his own height before—she got to his feet. Here there were creases and crevasses everywhere, and she had to go slowly to get all the dust. No, wait. That was too slow. He craned his neck to see her and read in her movements…peace? A memory of a different bath on Rion, not too long ago—what had she said? Oh yeah, all the dust on Ryloth—washing feet took on a ritual quality. She was content now, taking care of him.

He would have been a little happier if she were taking care of different parts of him, but this was nice, too. Then she dried his foot and took it in both hands and pushed strong, thin fingers into the sole. Pained joints cracked, and he groaned in appreciation. No wonder she liked foot rubs so much. She was starting on a thorough massage of the second foot when she paused, considering.

“What?”

“You know, you don’t have any sensation in the tips of your hair.”

“We’ve established that,” he told her, mock-solemn.

“But you have other extremities.”

“Yes…”

“Let me try…” She moved the basin to the ground, shifted back onto the bed at his feet, above him. Slid down on the bed.

Oh, sweet Force, she was going to play with him.

Then she closed his big toe in her mouth. Her mouth, warm and wet and clasping, the light scrape of her teeth on the bottom, the rasp of her tongue against the rough pattern on the sole of his toe. A pulse of pleasure went singing straight up his leg to his cock, and he groaned aloud. She smiled around his toe in response.

And then he was concentrating on the foot entirely, because he had a delicate balance to maintain. The tingling jolts that kept travelling up his body from his foot were… they were… concentrate, Kanan. How had he never done this before? They were nice. But they also perched right on the edge between erotic and, well, outrageously tickling. He took deep breaths and held very still, and through supreme effort stayed just this side of pleasure. And still Hera’s tongue, lathing the underside of his toe, then swirling around, then pointing sharply and tracing the swirling patterns there.

She pulled off of the big toe with an audible smack, and something low and desperate came out from between his clenched teeth. Between them, his cock stood at full attention. She sat up to give him a considering look, then bent and applied her teeth lightly to his third toe, and it was all new again—this one square centimeter of his body that he’d neglected his whole life, suddenly bathed in sensation. Her tongue probed down the length of one toe to the pad of his foot, discovering uncharted nerve endings as she went. Kanan squeezed his ass tight in an effort to stay still— Don’t thrust; she doesn’t need to know that you’re that desperate for her. Don’t kick; you might hurt her. Don’t grab her and squeeze her tight no matter how badly you want to; your arms won’t move, anyway. He was acutely aware of the flow of blood—or was it nerves?—up his leg from foot to shaft to heart, and back again. When she finally moved on to the last toe, running a finger down the side of his foot, working the toe with tongue and teeth, he couldn’t take it anymore.

The sound that came out of his mouth was more stifled laugh than groan, but it got her attention. She sat up, fixing him with that deeply innocent questioning look that he had never for one single second bought into. “What is it, love? Are your arms bothering you?” She couldn’t possibly have missed the massive erection between his gaze and hers.

“Hera Syndulla,” he ground out, “You are a tease. Get up here.” He wasn’t sure he could position her without his hands, but he still had tongue and knee and certain other obvious areas. They would get the job done.

But she slid obligingly only as far as those other areas before wrapping her fingers around his shaft. “A beautiful, perfect tease,” he gasped, and she slid her mouth onto him. Oh, this was definitely the direct path. Only one problem—he was still flat on his back and he wanted (so much) to have his hands on her. He couldn’t even reach a lek from here. “Hera… Ah—” He swallowed whatever incoherent noise that was and tried again, “That is…” She tightened her fingers. “That feels… uhm…” And there was that wicked tongue again, right up the underside of his shaft. He swallowed hard. “Hera, love, I am not going to last for long like this.”

“You want me to stop?” she murmured, mouth full.

“No! Yes. Just—” He still couldn’t reach for her. “Come up here. I want to do something for you.”

She must have heard the frustration in his tone (“I want to do something”). She pulled off lingeringly, then sat up and studied his face. “All right.” Stretched provocatively and stood, then gave him the show of a lifetime stripping out of her clothes, top to bottom. Then she was back on the bed, and straddling him, and positioning him carefully between her legs. She couldn’t be ready herself, yet. “Hera, you don’t have to—”

But instead of taking him inside her, she sat up and slid. He sucked in a breath. Well, that was…close enough to the real thing to undo him in no time.

Hera was considering their pace with her head tilted to one side like a connoisseur. “Could be slicker.” She leaned and fumbled on the shelf next to the bed. “Ha!”

“What?” He couldn’t imagine what she’d found.

“Just a dab of this. Not much of an indulgence.”

He couldn’t see what was on her fingers, identified it only as something slippery and… oh, those fingers again. She lingered between her own legs for a moment and, if it was possible in his present state, he surged in response. Then a tingling against already aroused nerves.

Kolto. She’d dipped a finger into the tub of kolto. Unlike bacta, it had no numbing agent. Instead, he felt the first step of the healing process.

Increased blood flow to affected areas. Kanan was already at maximum capacity, but he watched Hera’s eyes drift close and that flush begin to spread downwards from her cheeks as she started to rock against him again, and this whole thing was suddenly even more fun. “Hera?”

“Mm hmm?”

He pressed his hips up against her. “Good idea. Take your time.”

Help yourself, she didn’t need to be told. Her pace was different now, rocking instead of sliding, a rhythm designed to hit her own spots. Still, she pressed slickly against him. He wanted to grab her hips. This was a blunt-force way to get it done for her, the feeling less precise than fingertips, the pressure needed greater. That flush spread down her neck. Her spine began to arch. He wanted to grab her thighs and feel the strong cords of muscle there. Holy stars, this was a little slower, but he could see that wave rushing towards him, and he wasn’t going to be able to hold it off for long. “Hera—” he breathed. “Hera, I’m going to—”

A naughty, amused smile, “Come all over my thighs?” she suggested.

Oh, yes. All the gathering sparks roared into life, poured down his nerves to where Hera was pressed against him, her skin sweet on his. She kept rocking as he spilled himself on her, each slide of her skin against his bringing a new aftershock. And then they had more than enough lubricant, and almost too much sensation, and he tightened his abdomen and his ass and concentrated on staying hard for her. It wasn’t difficult, given this treatment.

Hera kept moving, her nails on his thighs, her eyes closed. That small line of concentration appeared at the bridge of her nose and he thought idly, for the millionth time, that she was so pretty. But the angle wasn’t quite right for her, he could tell from the tense, trying lines of her face. And he couldn’t hold her and position her.

Finally she leaned forward, lekku falling over her shoulders and grazing him, and he could bring his head up, catch tchin between his teeth, mercilessly fret at the tip with his tongue, and give her a taste of her own medicine. Hera shuddered and applied her fingers between her legs. A few sharp thrusts and she was shivering, muscles clenching, her whole body still. And then releasing with a sigh. “Hera,” he breathed. She called him “love.” This meant the same thing.

It took them long moments to move much, but then she wrung the cloth out thoroughly so neither one of them would get cold as she cleaned them both off. He watched the muscles in her forearms glint in the lamplight and it occurred to him how strange these small things were that turned him on. Her eyes smiled down at him, alight, and he grinned affectionately back. “What?”

“Nothing. I like your eyes.” Hera stretched out next to him with a sigh, placing her head carefully on his shoulder, rubbing his leg with her foot.

He bumped the side of her face with his nose in response. “I like your eyes, too. Going to stay?”

“No.” She frowned. “I have a report to write, and I need to get in contact with our fence on Rodia.”

“Sounds like a blast.”

“Yeah,” she snorted. “You don’t need me cutting off the flow of blood to your arm all night, anyway.” But she softened the practical talk with little kisses on his shoulder. “I probably should have let you rest, in the first place.”

“Never. I like our injury sex. It’s a tradition.”

“Kanan—” she sighed.

“You just want the ordinary sex next time?”

“Much as I love having you flat on your back and helpless to my every whim…”

He grinned. “You can have me that way any time you please, Captain.”

Hera smiled back, kissed him, got up off the bed. Kanan watched her getting dressed—not quite as exciting as the reverse, but always lovely. Oh, yeah. He was more or less permanently helpless when it came to Hera. She could fly him anywhere she pleased.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day!


End file.
